


First, You Must Learn to Smile as You Kill (AKA: the weirdest buddy road trip fic of all time)

by grandpahasNOrights



Category: House of 1000 Corpses (Movies), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Horror, M/M, Post-Canon, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandpahasNOrights/pseuds/grandpahasNOrights
Summary: “We might think of damnation as a fire. A burnin’ pit for all eternity. But really, there’s more to it. So much more. The deeper you go, the colder it gets till’ finally, at the center, you’re cold as ice. Frozen for all time. That, folks, is where the devil himself resides.”There was smoke. Fire. The whole nine yards. But what happens after all that?Or, to put it better, how the fuck to you adjust to normal life after some rabid looking freak tries to bash your head in with a hammer?
Relationships: wouldnt you like to know weatherboy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 20





	1. [fish from spongebob voice] MY LEG

**Author's Note:**

> you bitches thought you killed me huh. you really thought i was dead? fuck that. im here, cornier than ever, ready to ruin even more shit for you all. strap in, kids, bc shits about to get fucking wild.
> 
> also just realized im hopping into a new fandom with my fuckery so: if you want more background context, the first two fics on my profile cover some background that will be relevant later on. im a fucking dipshit idiot who doesnt know how to start a collection yet so until then yall gotta dig for it yourselves.

The smell of smoke was suffocating.

It was so distinctive. Something primal- something _intense_ . Stretch didn’t know where exactly it was coming from, but the smoke had started to billow up from below. From the ground somewhere. Swirling, snaking up in wispy clouds around her feet, so thick it felt like she was dancing through a fog. When she opened her mouth to scream, shriek like a manic, wild _thing_ she could taste it on her tongue. Between the roar of her chainsaw and the heavy weight of it on her lips she realized that she’d found victory. 

She could barely see through it. Tears brimmed her eyes. Her laughter died down as she tried to fight the sting the air around her suddenly had. It took her a moment to take it all in- really look at the mouth of the room, out to the late afternoon sky- and to realize that the smoke was getting darker. Climbing higher. Not only did the room have a sting to it, but the heat seemed… Intense. Even for Texas, even for this time of year.

Stretch dared to peak outside.

The wire frame of the mountain was exposed and warping. The plaster used to frame it, as it turned out, was flammable. Extremely, dangerously, _frustratingly flammable._ Judging by the sway the building was starting to get, she didn’t have much time before this whole thing came down like God’s personal game of Jenga. 

The stairs she’d previously used to make her ascent were currently consumed. There was no other way down, other than to slide down the side of this god-forsaken deathtrap.

Fuck.

It had been a day. A long, shitty, absolutely _hellish fucking day,_ so this might as well happen.

Stretch sighed. Sucked in a breath. With a moment of resistance that was only broken by the structure under her groaning, she moved. Awkwardly slid down the side, only to snag on something. She went into a spin, spiralling into the world’s sloppiest free fall. She managed to hit every bump, every jagged edge, every exposed wire until finally, _blessedly,_ her bruised and battered body rested on the sand. She lay there, letting everything around her settle as the world around her seemed to pop and sizzle.

“Fuck….” Stretch hissed through a mouthful of dirt. Every single inch of her felt like it had a heartbeat. She knew she had to get up, try and shamble off somewhere a little less busy to avoid being dried out like a damn hunk of beef. But could she even _walk_ after all this? Did she even want to try to?

She worked herself into a sitting position. Muscles twisted, popped, and Stretch winced. As much as it pained her, she kept pushing. Pushed and pushed and pushed until somehow, someway, she made it to her feet. Surveying the area, it looked like the fire was coming from somewhere below. The tunnels that led to the caves were billowing out like factory stacks. The soot drifting through the air was starting to block out the afternoon sun, and even from distance Stretch could feel her eyes water. The ground under her rumbled.

She had vague memories of growing up, going to church with her dad every sunday morning. Dragging her off with her cousins to some dreary looking building in the middle of a field where some overweight preacher-man would yell and rattle off about scripture. Heaven. Jesus. The resurrection. Hell. That’s what stuck with her the most- _Hell._ It’s what all preachers seemed to linger on, save their best words for. In graphic detail, he described a scene of fire, smoke, flames, brimstone, air so acrid you could feel your lungs shrivel up like prunes.

Stretch couldn’t move. It was like she was frozen in place, mind a blank as she tried to rationalize the scene around her. There was a noise, deafening, the sound of crisping wood, crackling fire.

A wheeze.

There was a wheeze. Low, fragile sounding, sickly. Stretch felt her heart flip; someone was _there._ Someone else actually managed to make it out of this mess in one piece. She listened closer. 

The wheeze gave way to a cough. A rattling, nasally cough. Stretch’s stomach dropped.

Preacher always talked about hell. It was the thing he was best at; it got people’s attention. Reminded them of why exactly they were there every Sunday- or what they were trying to _avoid._ In all his talks, he would mention the fire. Flames. Brimstone. The whole nine yards. But one sermon he’d delivered a different story. Something new.

“We might think of damnation as a fire. A burnin’ pit for all eternity. But really, there’s more to it. So much more. The deeper you go, the colder it gets till’ finally, at the center, you’re cold as ice. Frozen for all time. That, folks, is where the devil himself resides.”

He was slow. It took a bit of time for him to actually appear through the haze, but eventually Stretch saw him shamble into view. His lurch, the way his body moved, it looked _sickly-_ even more so than usual. Stretch could see that one of his legs was practically dragging behind him as he growled like some kinda lost, feral….t _hing._ The previous two times she’d seen him, there was a sort of mask. A forced facade of civility there, like he was actually _somewhat_ human, if just barely. That was gone now. A savage, feral glint was in his eyes as he glared.

“You…. Yoooooou fucking _bitch.”_

Stretch had never paid much attention to Preacher’s warnings. She was like all the other kids, her cousins, too busy playing games to really understand what he was saying. When it’d happened and her cousins had both gone, her Daddy doubled down on his lessons.

“You listen here darlin’.” He was firm. Stretch could remember everything, the way his hand gripped her arm. The bloodshot eyes. The smell of the liquor on his breath. “Hell is real. An’ it can be on this earth. It can be _anywhere._ And you best be ready for it when it comes.”

She’d never taken him seriously. Never thought much of it. 

Something in Stretch’s head finally came back on. The gears started to turn as she watched Chop approach, get close enough that he could almost _reach._ She realized that this was Hell. She was here. In the deepest, darkest pit of it, frozen.

Fuck that _._

She ducked, swerved back on her heels as Chop clawed towards her. The metal of his plate glinted in the flames around them. His pallid complexion gave him an almost amber glow. He looked like a demon, come to claim her soul.

_Fuck_ that.

Stretch turned on her heels and made a break for the entrance to the park. She couldn’t exactly run, not with her body as banged up as it was, but she could manage one hell of a fast walk. A look behind her confirmed that Chop was somehow managing to keep up pace with her. He was pushing himself past any pain, forcing himself to walk on a busted, mangled looking leg like nothing was wrong. She could just barely make something out through the smoke; a vehicle. _Her_ vehicle. The Jeep’s top was still down, and she thanked whatever angel was watching over her that it was far enough away from the chaos to be relatively unaffected. A sweaty hand patted her pockets and- again, thank _fuck-_ her keys were there.

By the time she’d reached the door, Chop was almost on her. Stretch fumbled with the hand bar right as his grip tightened on her waist. It was harsh, nails digging into her shirt, her skin, trying his best to bring her in..

“Get back here!” He snarled. His other hand found her leg and wrenched her back. Stretch fell, smacking her side against the metallic leg rest. The pain was enough to make her see stars; by the time her vision had stopped swimming, Chop was on top of her. For someone as banged up as he was, he had a hell of a right hook. The blow landed on her right cheek, making her jaw throb. There was a sharp, metallic taste in her mouth, and Stretch quickly realized she’d managed to take a bit of flesh off the inside of her cheek. 

Chop seemed pleased with himself. He gave a giddy, frantic sort of cackle laugh as he looked over his handiwork. His weight shifted as he started to lower himself down, hands finding her neck and squeezing. 

Stretch gasped. Gasped. Gasped. She couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t move- it felt like everything was slipping out. She choked on her own spit and blood; combined with the pressure on her windpipe, it made everything so…. Spotty. There were blackspots in her vision. Her hands balled into fists, and they didn’t _feel_ like hers as she began to pummel him. The pressure didn’t let up, and with a fleeting sort of panic Stretch realized she didn’t have much time left. With one last push she bucked, moving upwards with such a sudden jolt that Chop faltered. Fell back off her. 

It was all she needed. Stretch took a gulp of air, crying out in a sort of raspy-bellow as she adjusted herself. She got to her legs as quickly as she could, stumbling to her Jeep and plopping into the driver’s side. Her hands were shaking so bad she’d almost dropped her keys. It took a few times, trial and error, still trying to blink out the last blurry bits from her vision until finally the keys went in.

The roar of the engine was the greatest sound she’d ever heard. 

She put the car in reverse. Chop Top had made it to his feet, swaying with the effort and pressure on his legs. The two locked eye; Chop’s expression was fixed, intense, but there was something else there now. A glimmer of fear. 

Stretch savored it. The rush it gave her, the energy, the sheer fucking _power_ she held. With a click, the gear shifted. She let herself bask in the glory of the moment for another few seconds before her foot slammed against the gas. The front grill of her car threw him into the air like a ragdoll. He smacked against the windshield before sliding into her backseat. The roar of the wind around the speeding truck made him flop awkwardly, sending him ass first into the dirt under them. 

Stretch watched his body fade in her rearview.


	2. welcome back to dan bells another dirty room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her throat felt raw. Sucking in smoke and screaming like a madwoman had fried whatever voice she had left. Stretch wondered if the clerk had even heard her at all. Eventually she watched as his attention raised from his porn rag ever so slightly. Just enough to acknowledge she existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she lived bitch!!

Dallas had always been a minefield during the Shootout. The weeks leading up to the game were filled with stupid puff pieces the station made her work on- chili cookoffs, hog shows, rodeos. The works. All that shitty, inconsequential  _ fluff  _ ma and pa at home would just  _ eat up.  _ It was beneath her. It was fucking  _ garbage _ . But whenever she tried to push back, tell her manager that she wanted to cover actual stories, give their listeners something to actually mull over? Shot down. Reprimanded. 

“Look, darlin’.” Her boss was a slimy man, who’s words oozed almost as much grease as his blubbery face. “I don’t mean to be… Uncouth, when I say this, but this is  _ no way  _ to endear yourself to future employers! Just think of it like this; if I was a big journalist, would  _ I  _ want someone so temperamental working under me?”

‘Temperamental’ was an odd choice of words. It was a sort of code. A dog whistle. Saying ‘temperamental’ was a work appropriate way of calling her a stuck up thorn in his ass for not wanting to listen to smarmy little shits call in to talk about her tits all night. Wanting something  _ more  _ to do with herself other than be the pretty little bimbo who talked to callers. Or went to judge pageants. Or really, just someone allowed to have a damn  _ personality.  _

She fucking  _ hated  _ the Shooutout.  _ Nothing  _ good ever happened around the damn Shootout.

So of course, this all had to boil over and happen on the busiest weekend of the year for her side of Texas. She had to leave, get a damn motel, and  _ try  _ to get her head on straight with thousands of tourists, drunk and horned up college kids looking to raise hell funneling in and out. She couldn’t think. She didn’t even know where to begin with this. So she drove. Kept on the road, watched as the trees around stretched on and on until finally, she was out of the city. 

She kept driving. Even after she was away from Dallas. Drove on until her gas got dangerously close to e. With the first stroke of good luck she’d had in weeks, Stretch saw a motel. Her car skid into park, and she hobbled her way towards the office. She was still covered in blood- her own, the cannibals, the masked man’s. Hell, maybe even  _ LG’s.  _ The lines between her own and theirs were blurred, and at this point she didn’t think it mattered much to differentiate. 

She shoved the door open as best as she could. With all the strength she could muster she made her way to the counter.

“Cheapest room.”

Her throat felt raw. Sucking in smoke and screaming like a madwoman had fried whatever voice she had left. Stretch wondered if the clerk had even heard her at all. Eventually she watched as his attention raised from his porn rag ever so slightly. Just enough to acknowledge she existed.

“Twenty a night.” He sounded bored. Didn’t really seem to pay her appearance any mind, Not that she really cared. Stretch slapped a bill on the counter. 

As she made her way to her room, she noticed that the place was filled with people. Not even tourists, just.. People. Living there. Living out of these run down, shitty little rooms like nothing was wrong. Groups lingered by the doorframes, cars, wherever they could, just talking. Stretch watched one group eye her curiously as she made it to her room and fumbled with her key. She was nervous that one of them would say something; the minute her door opened she all but threw herself inside. Locked every single lock she could, then moved the bedside table in front of it for good measure.

Nothing was going to get to her here.

The moldy smell of the room didn’t bother her. The grime on the carpet, the stains on the drapes, little specks of god-knows-what staining the walls didn’t faze her much either. It was like she was numb. It was only after finding the bathroom and nearly collapsing into the tub that Stretch finally broke. The basin she was standing in turned into a mess of color. Brown, blackish-grey, red- everything, all the stains from the last twenty-four hours sloughed off her. For the second time that day, Stretch screamed. Howled. Tore whatever little bits of vocal cord she had left to bits until the only sound she could make was a faint whistle-like rasp.

When Stretch finally exited the shower her skin was pink. Painfully raw.

In the last twenty-four hours, she’d been attacked. Almost kidnapped. Taken hostage by a family of cannibals- who had also captured and butchered her best friend. Hell, she’d  _ worn his fucking face.  _ Her father was dead. One of them seemed to have some kind of  _ thing  _ with her- and couldn’t take no for an answer, as she had  _ repeatedly told him.  _ One of them- a nasty little shit with metal fused to his damn  _ skull-  _ had chased her around like a damn game. 

Stretch was tired. Very,  _ very  _ tired.

Thank god this place had a TV set.

Her fingers jabbed the power button on the remote. The set’s picture was fuzzy. Out of focus. By the time it adjusted, a breaking news bulletin graphic was flashing across the screen.

“Good evening. Lance Brockwell here with an update to a story broken earlier today; As we previously reported, a strange and macabre scene has been discovered in a place once used as a theme park.”

Stretch tensed. News footage rolled of the Battleland, still up in smoke. The parking lot was littered with cars and trucks- cops, paramedics, firetrucks. Stretch saw the amount of ambulances they’d brought to the scene and bit back a laugh.

Oh, if they only fucking knew.

“What at first seemed like a rescue call soon turned into one of the most disgusting recovery missions ever witnessed by state police. Hundreds of remains, all seemingly fragments from different bodies, were brought out one by one from catacombs hidden underneath the surface of the park.”

More footage. Now, the fires had begun to die. Piles upon piles of charred remains were heaped in the middle of the clearing. Another pile had old bones- blackened and cracking from the fire, too numerous to mix in with the cadavers. The network’s camera man was gracious enough to film an officer hurling at the site. 

“The exact circumstances behind what happened here are currently unknown. However, due to similarities from this incident to a previous attack on local radio station KOKLA FM earlier this week, authorities are assuming these crimes are linked.”

Stretch felt her heart flutter a bit. Son of a bitch, the fucking cops were  _ finally  _ listening. 

“Police have been able to identify one of the bodies recovered as “LG” McPeters, studio hand from the aforementioned radio station. With that development now confirmed, I’ve been told that the sheriff’s team has narrowed down the most likely suspect for questioning in this case.”

The set’s picture cut to the outside of a building. A man stood fanning himself, sweltering in the heat like an overweight hog on the kill line. Herb wore his best suit, the one he wore to station meetings or public events. It was white, pressed and fancy looking. 

Whatever hope she had for this faded in a damn instant.

“Now I don’t have the  _ slightest  _ clue why Miss Brock went  _ devil  _ on us.” His Orleans twang was about as sweet as a rotten apple. Stretch could feel the bile rising in her throat. “Been noticin’ her actin’ odd lately. Obsessed with some hokey prank call couple’ college kids phoned the other night. Went and drove her  _ mad _ . I tried tellin’ her that it wasn’t worth nothin’ but she didn’t listen!”

The feed cut to footage of her office- a crime scene. The studio looked  _ trashed;  _ records thrown about everywhere. Walls beat in, covered in holes. Furniture literally  _ sawed in half.  _ The crew had brought in lights in order to get a better look around the place. When everything had happened, Stretch had been so focused on trying to get the fuck out of there that she hadn’t really stopped to take stock of the situation. Now, she couldn’t look away. 

LG had lost blood. So much blood. It was everywhere- splatters on the ceiling. Flecks on the wall. A portion of the floor was taped off, sectioned away, but stretch could very clearly see a dried pool of it there. A  _ large  _ pool. The gravity of the situation, just how much LG probably suffered, even before  _ getting to that flashy looking hell,  _ hit her like a truck _. _

“See, I knew her Daddy. He was the same way! Couple of his sister’s kids go missin’ and he decides to play detective. Took over his whole life. Lost his job, the rest of his family, hell, I think he woulda’ lost her too if her Mama was in the picture-”

Stretch smacked the side of the TV. Smacked it again. Again. Again. The picture buzzed, jolted and distorted. In a brief moment of clarity, she worried she could’ve broken the damn thing. 

The set hissed. The picture came back, grainy and in monochrome, but at least it was  _ back. _

“-upsettin’. Just real upsettin’s all. She always had a sorta mean streak ‘bout her that I never liked. Always snappy, always tryin’ to be rude to anybody jus’ wantin’ to talk.”

She couldn’t  _ believe this shit.  _ Even in black and white, she could see Herb’s blanched, red face. It was unmistakable after years of working under his lard-ass. How badly she wanted to beat his face in until the damn thing turned  _ purple. _

“Any leads on the current whereabouts of Miss Brock are in high demand.” Stretch was so upset that she’d hardly noticed the feed had switched back to the newsroom. Lance’s nasally voice made the headache she had brewing come to a full boil. Before he could say much else, Stretch finally clicked the damn thing off. She noticed, holding the remote in front of her, that her hand was shaking. To be frank, her entire  _ body  _ was shaking. She didn’t really expect a hero’s welcome coming back from hell, but by  _ God-  _ she hadn’t expected to be named a fucking suspect. 

But really.. What could she expect? Most people who went through something like this would run to the hospital. The cops.  _ Something  _ official in order to try and get help. She would’ve- really, she  _ had  _ thought of it- but what good had it done her family in the past? 

What good had it done Sally?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i just wanna like clarify here: i dont have an issue with how people write chop top in fic. however i noticed that a lot of people kind of forget that this dudes really fucking scary. like hes 6 foot tall, bald, with a plate in his head. hes got bad teeth. he looks like he hasnt showered in like, a month if not longer. he eats his own dead skin. hes got a 8 foot vertical leap. he can run really fast. like, hes like if you made a wolverine into a rabid little white boy. i hate it. i hate it so much. chop top lives rent free in my head but its under the fear section because that little bitch terrifies me.


	3. and who could forget dear rat boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You… You hangin’ in there Bubs?”
> 
> His brother gurgled a response. He was never the most verbal, but this sounded like he was drowning in his own blood. Internal bleeding. There was still time to salvage this, probably. More than likely. Hopefully. But he didn’t have much time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heres the problem. chop and nubbins are freebirding the middle sibling title. so you know they have to like, split being chaotic little bastards or whatever but when nubbins "died" all that chaos went into chop. so yeah hes gonna be an asshole diva bc all middle kids are but at the end of the day hes still worried about his siblings.

Sweet baby Jesus covered in pussy juice and hay, his body fucking  _ hurt.  _

Chop came too with his mangled body about to sizzle like an egg on the pavement. The sun was up, high in the sky, and here he was on the side of the road like a racoon that got a little too close to the action. When he tried to stand, his knee made a sick sort of pop. A squelch. Chop hollered in pain, stumbling a bit before hitting the ground again. 

Ah. She’d done a fuckin’  _ number,  _ huh?

It took a world of effort. An indescribable, mind numbing trek from the side of the road back towards the park- which was  _ on fucking fire.  _ That’s not what it was supposed to be like. He was almost  _ sure  _ of that. Eventually, he was able to make it past the fire, towards the entrance to the catacombs they’d dug out over the years.. Most were blocked off by rock and rubble-  _ apparently,  _ plywood and old timber they stole wasn’t osha compliant. Who coulda’ knew that?

He was worried about getting in. Really wracked his brain for some sorta solution. It came moments later when the floor under him gave out, collapsing in on itself in a sort of sinkhole of sorts. Chop hollered as the ground swallowed him, thinking the devil had come to take his sorry ass back home for all the wrong he’d done. A pile of gore broke his fall. Meat, guts, muscle- all bits Drayton couldn’t use. He was picky. Pickier than he used to be. All that chili business went to his head and made em’  _ cocky.  _ If Grandma was still around she’d have a  _ fit.  _

Speaking of the others…. Where  _ was  _ everyone?

Chop looked around at his surroundings. He was in the meat cellar, obviously, but the damage that punk with the chainsaw’d done was making things hard to map out. Pillars had collapsed, areas had completely caved in. The air had a musty sort of mothball smell, mixed in with the rot of the meat pile he was resting in. It made him wanna  _ hurl.  _

This whole thing was lookin’ bad.

“This is lookin’  _ baaaaaad.”  _ Chop said to seemingly nobody. “Drayton! Nubbins! Bubs! Where ya’ at?”

The only thing Chop could hear was himself echoing off the walls. With a wet sounding squelch, he heaved himself out of the meat and started towards one of the walls. He saw a beam that was downed, a rock pile- this was the entrance. With all the effort he could muster, he started to move the wreckage out of his way, wailing against it with all his might until he broke through. It took him a minute to adjust to his surroundings, but eventually he began to piece together what the everloving fuck he was actually looking at. 

Shit. It was the dining room. 

The table was absolutely  _ destroyed.  _ Bits of wood and bone, fragments from glass and metal- all of it scattered around the room like confetti. There was a splotch on the floor; reddish pink, muddled and mangled and- he could tell what it was. It was people. He’d seen countless spots like it before. People gettin’ blowed up tended to be real nasty. Nothin’ that shoulda turned his stomach.

He noticed that there was a scrap of brown fabric mingled in with the gore. It made him hesitate. For the first time in a while, he felt scared. Chop reached for an old lantern, cracked but somehow still lit, and moved in closer. Sure enough, there was a red bowtie. A bit of the flesh next to the pile was chalk white. Pallid, like his own skin. 

It was easy for his family to bounce back from shit.  _ Real  _ easy. They’d done it countless times- the family business meant that they had their share of accidents, lost limbs, the like. Just get enough blood and meat in your body and you could bounce back from most anything. 

This was pushing it. 

He couldn’t bring them back from  _ nothin’.  _

“B- Bubba- Bubba!” Chop couldn’t help but stutter. Times like this made his head hurt; There was too much goin’ on at once. He didn’t know where to start.  _ How  _ to start. The smell of burnt hair and old meat was suddenly stifling. The other two were gone. Grandpa was  _ gone.  _ Drayton- as much of a pantload as he was- was  _ gone.  _ The Battleland was on fucking  _ fire.  _ Bubba was missing in action and, dear god, he hoped he at least fuckin’  _ ran  _ or something because yeah, thats a cowardly move, but he’d rather have him as a coward than a stain on the floor and-

Chop heaved. Put a hand to his head- his plate- and felt it was hot.  _ Extremely  _ hot. Almost like the damn thing was gonna go up in smoke like everything else on this godforsaken land.

He heard something. A groan. It sounded small, sickly, sort of faint and  _ wet.  _

“Bubs?”

The groan got louder. Chop paused his breakdown immediately and ran towards the noise. There was a mess of rubble- beams, rocks, dust,  _ bone-  _ all rained down in heap over something twitching. Something  _ moving.  _ He didn’t waste any time; he started hauling shit out like it weighed nothing until finally,  _ finally,  _ he could see what was underneath.

It was Bubba. Battered, bruised, cut open and gashed-

-Oh god, his  _ stomach. _

Chop had seen his brother banged up before. Again, family business had its share of risks involved. But this? His damn guts were  _ hangin’ out of his damn stomach in a tangled mass.  _ He had to actually stop to catch his breath, make sure he didn’t hack up whatever they ate last night onto this mess, because  _ shit  _ this was bad. 

“You… You hangin’ in there Bubs?”

His brother gurgled a response. He was never the most  _ verbal,  _ but this sounded like he was drowning in his own blood. Internal bleeding. There was still time to salvage this, probably. More than likely. Hopefully. But he didn’t have much time.

He knew what he needed. They’d been down this road a couple times now. Chop ran back to the meat cellar, returning with a ball of butcher’s twine and a jumbo sized needle.

  
“This is gonna  _ hurt.”  _ Chop tried to sound as soothing as possible. Get his hands to stop shaking like they were. Bubba just shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so to clarify some things here;
> 
> -this is working off the early script/screenplay thing where lefty and stretch were father and daughter. i think that adds a lot to their characters and makes for interesting dynamics or whatever idk  
> -the sawyers arent like, supernatural or anything explicitly however there just like. built different. generations of cannibalism has basically let them shrug off shit that should kill them, hence why bubba can take chainsaw to the internal organs and not be dead and grandpa can Grandpa. it has its limits, obviously, and getting exploded happens to be one of them  
> -since stretch and lefty are related that makes stretch and sally/franklin cousins. the timelines weird as hell, but like.... lets not focus too much on it. im tryin'. its probably gonna get even weirder later on but thats spoilers


	4. i really could have combined this chapter and the last one but oh well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chop knew what he wanted to do. What he needed to do. His family was nothin’ but ash now; dust in the damn wind, scuffs on the floor and rotting meat for the crows. Bubba was here, sure, and they’d managed to find Nubbins relatively unscathed, but that was half of what they’d had. 
> 
> He wanted revenge.

It was a long, long,  _ long  _ night.

Bubba was fading. Chop did his best, stitching him back together like he was mending a shirt. Mending pants. Mending a sheet. Whatever he had to compare this work to so it didn’t seem as bleak; like he  _ wasn’t  _ trying to piece his brother back together. For the most part, he was doing a decent enough job. He was able to block out reality until Bubba whined, winced,  _ screeched  _ as the needle pierced his skin.

“Now Bubs,” Chop tried to keep his voice from shaking, “You  _ knooooow  _ I gotta keep a steady hand. You want this to look  _ bad?”  _

Bubba had tears in his eyes. He shook his head no. 

“Exactly. Now- stay  _ still  _ and shut yer’ damn mouth.”

It took hours of this back and forth. The threats Chop would dish out were just that- threats. He didn’t think he could actually bring himself to do anything to his brother in this state. As much of a dick as he was, even  _ he  _ wasn’t that bad.

“You’re just bout’ done now.”

Chop studied his handiwork. The stomach looked…. Well, it looked like ass. Pure fuckin’ shit, really, but at least his guts were  _ inside  _ his damn body. The stitching ran up the cut, marking his skin with a mess of twine and blood. His brother was stirring. Weakly. But he was  _ moving  _ at the very least.

“We’ll get you some food. That’ll help you feel better. Then we can-”

A squeal. 

“-What?”

Bubba’s head motioned towards the other end of the room. Towards the table. The burn marks. The splotch on the floor.

Fuck.

“Ah. Well, uh…. They’re gone.”

Bubba’s eyes went wide. He made a harsh sounding grunt; frantic, or as frantic as he could manage like this. Chop felt a lump in his damn throat.

“I know- Look-”

More garbled noises.

“-I can’t just stitch em’ back, Bubs. They’re ain’t nothin’  _ left  _ to do that with!”

A whine.

“We had a  _ body  _ for Nubs! I ain’t got  _ nothin’  _ to work with here! Sides’ Grandpa was the one who knew all that stuff and he’s  _ gone.” _

Bubba looked irritated. Chop could feel his patience waning. Before the two had any chance to actually bring the conflict to a head, however, they heard something. A siren. Loud. The sound of tires screeching through the dirt above them. Another siren. A horn.

“Hot damn Bubs- they got the whole fuckin’ calvary up there!” Chop exclaimed. “Shit- keep it quiet, ok? We don’t want them findin’ us down here.”

Bubba nodded his head frantically. Minutes passed; they listened to the traffic above them. They seemed to be yelling for survivors. First responders sifted through the rubble in vain. The only thing they’d find in that mess was corpses, long since wasted away, too rotted to even be identified. After a certain point, they heard one of the poor fuckers  _ puke. _

It was almost a sadistic treat- for Chop top, at least- to listen to their reactions as they dug more and more corpses from the wreckage. His family might be virtually extinct now, but shit, this was their  _ legacy.  _ No matter how hard these city boys tried, they’d  _ never  _ be able to forget it.

“The fuckin’- it’s a fuckin’  _ pit of flesh!” _

It  _ wasn’t  _ no damn flesh pit. It was all the bad bits, obviously. The refuse they needed to bury. Wasn’t his fault it was that bad-  _ Bubba was the one in charge of that shit.  _ And he  _ could have  _ done his damn  _ job  _ if that lone ranger motherfucker hadn’t come in and  _ ruined it. _ He damn near knocked the wall down himself to give them a piece of his mind, really rip them a new asshole, but the tiny scrap of self awareness he had left reminded him that was stupid.

The two of them needed to shut up. Keep quiet. Stay low.

There was meat in the freezer still. Power was still running to the kitchen, and at the very least the stove top still worked. He did his best; he cooked. Just like he’d seen Grandpa do. Just like he’d seen  _ Drayton  _ do. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as theirs- Grandpa had a way of charring the meat, and Drayton’s seasoning was always just right. His wasn’t charred. It didn’t taste  _ bad,  _ but it didn’t have the same kick to it there's did.

“Here, Bub. Don’t be too harsh.” Bubba took a little bit on his fork. Looked at it like it was a snake about to bite. “Shit. Come  _ on,  _ Bubba! Are you kiddin’ me?”

Bubba let out a low noise that sounded like air escaping a balloon. Chop rolled his eyes.

“ _ If you don’t eat that damn food so we can get your oversized ass outta here-” _

Bubba’s eyes went wide. He shoveled the food in his mouth, chewing slowly before finally swallowing. He nodded his head appreciatively before taking another forkfull.

“See? Told you I knew how to cook!” Chop insisted in the most impassioned whisper he could muster. 

His brother ate. Time passed. His brother ate. Something about home cooking worked it’s magic- not just for Bubba, but for him too. The people up top came and went, bringing in trucks and men and dogs and whatever else they could pull out their asses. There were a few times where Chop was nervous- where he felt like he damn near got got- but they passed without incident. 

Chop top ate.

A week passed. The noise above finally stopped. The fires had finally gone out. Most importantly, his brother could stand on both legs. He could walk. Bubba could lift his saw, wave it around like he did, saw anything in his path. Just like old times. Just like it was before everything went to  _ shit. _

Chop had listened to the reporters as they lingered above ground. Heard what they said about the “investigation” they’d opened up. Somehow,  _ some way,  _ they pinned this on the girl. The fucking  _ DJ.  _ It didn’t help that him and his brothers all managed to keep a relatively low profile, but her?  _ Killing?  _ Come the fuck  _ on.  _ She was nothin’ but a scared lil’ deer in headlights. Just like a deer, she went and ran. Probably holed up in some shitty little motel on the side of the road, in plain site, just  _ waiting  _ to be found. 

“Apparently she rented a couple hours away.”

Chop top tilted his head. It was the last day the cops had been there, lingering around and taking pictures of the whole place. 

“Really?”

“Some shithole out west called the Kozy Kitten.” 

“Well shit- They bring her in?”

“Nah. Her car was there, but nothin’ else of hers was.”

That’s all he needed to hear. 

Chop knew what he wanted to do. What he  _ needed  _ to do. His family was nothin’ but ash now; dust in the damn wind, scuffs on the floor and rotting meat for the crows. Bubba was here, sure, and they’d managed to find Nubbins relatively unscathed, but that was half of what they’d had. 

He wanted revenge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to you this will start to get closer to the ho1c part in the next chapter or two. on GOD were getting there


	5. were reaching maximum capacity on how many greasy unwashed hicks we can fit into one story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like something inside her just fucking snapped. The man’s confusion bought her enough time to stand and grab the nearest thing she could- an old curtain rod. The metal’s cool in her hands as her knuckles turn white. The brief moment she was able to bask in the man’s sheer panic was more than enough to sate her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lived bitch

Stretch hadn’t left her little hovel in a week. 

The outside world crept on like nothing was wrong. Apparently, the bigshots outside didn’t have a family of murderous cannibals framing them for murder or somethig. Good for nothing assholes had  _ nothing wrong with their damn lives-  _

-She heard a bang from behind her. The other side of the wall, the next room over, there was a scream. Stretch muted her TV set only to have theirs ramp it’s volume up, almost  _ painfully  _ loud. Like they were trying to hide something. It didn’t matter much, though; she could still hear the sounds of flesh smacking into flesh, the yelp of pain from some poor fucker as they were beat like it was happening in front of her. 

Alright. Maybe it was  _ unfair  _ to say that they didn’t have issues. They most  _ certainly  _ had issues of their own to deal with. But this? It made whatever the hell you wanted to call that  _ seem mundane.  _

She didn’t know where to begin, what to even  _ do  _ about this entire situation. Telling the truth- talking to the police about the clan of murderous freaks living at a long dead theme park making a feast out of rowdy college kids- sounded insane. Downright  _ demented  _ even if it was true. No. The cops would toss her in the nearest looney bin.

Stretch knew she wouldn’t survive that. She had no choice; she had to keep running. Think on her damn feet and move from one motel to the next. Maybe hop the border if she could. That’s what all the big time criminals did, right? Go down south and wait it out until the coast was clear. Maybe she could get a defense set up, track down evidence that some greasy albino with a sheet of metal in his dome had been the one to bash her friends head in. Not her.  _ Obviously  _ not her.

Her time here was almost up. Literally. The minute she’d seen the news report, she’d marched back to the front desk and threw another wad of cash his way before running out. By her math, she’d managed to buy another six nights. Meaning that after tonight….

Stretch felt sick. She was trapped.  _ Again.  _ The only thing she could even begin to think would help this was sleep. Just… Knocking the fuck out for a few hours until she could throw herself into her car and drive somewhere. Maybe stop further down south, closer to the border and……

There was a noise. Stretch stopped her internal rambling and looked towards the door. Surely, she’d imagined it. There was no way that somebody was actually trying to open her door?

The knob moved. She saw it move.

“Just a drunk who got confused which room he’s in.” She muttered to herself. Part of her wanted to shout at the man to get lost, but something was keeping her from saying anything else. The jostling got more intense; Stretch watched the frame shake as whoever the fuck this was rammed their entire body into the door. The hinges let out a low creak as a screw dropped to the floor.

Oh,  _ fuck.  _ The thing was about to come down. Stretch bolted off her bed and made her way to the bathroom. No sooner had the door shut behind her ass did she hear the entrance finally give with a deafening bang.

“SHIT!” The voice was a husky southern drawl. The man sounded like a smoker, something that was supported by the rattling hack he let out just a moment later. He wheezed, catching himself and rummaging around her room like a damn bull in a china shop. 

“Awful lotta effort for somethin’ deserted.” The mattress squeaked as he sat down. “Damn, this is stiff. The hell they stuffin’ it with? Straw?”

The TV set clicked on. With a sort of panic Stretch realized that no, this wasn’t a random drunkard trying to find his room. This man was sober, he was coherent, and most importantly he had  _ done this before.  _

“I’m a victim of circumstance!”

There was an over the top cartoonish slapping sound that blasted from the set.. The man let out a belly laugh so intense he triggered another wheezing-fit. 

“This the funniest shit…” 

A bottle clanked against the nightstand. The weight shifted off the bed. Thick, dense sounding footsteps that started getting louder. Shit. Stretch held her breath for a moment. The entire world was still.

The bathroom door’s knob jiggles. A hand flicks the light switch on, and he doesn’t even notice she’s there until he’s already a few steps in. He blinks, frozen in place.

“....What in the absolute  _ fuck-” _

It was like something inside her just fucking  _ snapped.  _ The man’s confusion bought her enough time to stand and grab the nearest thing she could- an old curtain rod. The metal’s cool in her hands as her knuckles turn white. The brief moment she was able to bask in the man’s sheer  _ panic  _ was more than enough to sate her.

“N- now, sweetheart, I don-”

Stretch swings it with a roar. 

=-

The man fell to the ground with a thud. Blood welled from the gash she’d left on his head- dark and thick looking, staining the man’s ginger hair. It started to pool where he’d fallen. Stretch let the pole clatter to the ground as she  _ heaved.  _ Lost her entire lunch right then and there. She could  _ smell  _ the blood oozing out of him, taste it on her tongue as she breathed through her mouth. There was no escaping it.

She tried to collect herself. Stretch couldn’t just…  _ Leave  _ him here. She didn’t want to add to her body count.  _ Couldn’t  _ add to her body count. No. She’d deal with him her own way. There was a cord of rope in the linen closet. She worked it around him as best she could- the man was near skeletal in some places, but somehow muscular at the same time. He reminded her of a cheap halloween prop left to fade in the sun well past the season’s end.

Stretch dragged his body from the back of the room to the front, near the bed. His head slumped back against the mattress, limp and lifeless like some kind of ragdoll. She was worried she’d killed him with that swing, but his chest was rising still. Somehow, someway, the man was alive. She stood watch; time slipped by, minutes into hours. He never stopped breathing, but didn’t stir. 

The clock read three when he finally started to jostle awake. He opened his eyes slowly. Stretch noticed with a sick sort of feeling that the pupil on the side she’d hit was much, much larger than the other. There was no way the fucker wasn’t concussed. 

“ _ Fuckin’ hell bitch _ .” His voice was raspier than before, if that was even possible. He struggled against the ropes that bound him and looked ready to say more until Stretch made for the pole again.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth.” She spat. Her entire body was shaking. He seemed cowed, for now. At the very least, he’d stopped his struggling. “Not another fucking word until you start explainin’ yourself.”

“...’Splain myself?” The man snorted. “The everlovin’ fuck I gotta say to  _ you?” _

“You broke into my  _ fucking room!”  _

“Well, why was it you was hidin’ then? Dunno many people who do that less they’re a lil’ pair-of-noid, if ya’ know what I mean. You runnin’ from somebody, miss?”

“...What?”

“Look, girl, all I know’s most people wouldn’t just run and lock themselves away when they hear bangin’ on their door.  _ Most  _ people would try an’ say somethin’ to make em’ leave. Or be a damn hero an’ just fight em’ head on. But you hid. So I know you ain’t normal, and after you went an’ played my head like a damn pinata I know you got a fight to ya’.”

“You don’t know  _ shit.” _

_ “ _ But I  _ do  _ know shit. Or at least I know the gist of it. Only thing I  _ don’t  _ know’s what yer’ runnin’ from. Ex boyfriend get a lil’ too macho for his own good?”

  
  


“Enough!” Stretch snarled. She struck the rod against the mattress. The man flinched- just barely. “I’ve been through enough  _ shit  _ this last week to have to sit here and listen to some smelly-lookin’ dipshit prattle on and on all damn night!”

Her chest heaved. In an instant, the man’s entire demeanor shifted. It was like he’d had an epiphany.

“Shit… I know who you are.” He laughed, cracking a wide grin that showed off his teeth. Cracked, yellowed, sharp teeth. “Seen you on the TV.”

Stretch froze. 

“Yeah… See, you’re that lil’ lady who killed all them people huh? Then went batshit and burnt it all down? Damn. I was wonderin’ why you was able to get such a jump on me. Color me impressed, kid.”

The criminal genuinely seemed like he was in awe of her. Stretch’s stomach turned at the show of respect. This was abhorrent. Completely and utterly beyond anything she knew how to handle. The smart thing to do would be to ride this wave for as long as she could. Milk him for whatever know-how he had on how to run from the law then dip.

“-I didn’t do all  _ that!”  _

Well. It’d been a week. She was allowed to have a moment of sheer and utter fucking stupidity if she felt so inclined.

“You… Didn’t? They had yer’ face all over the damn news an’-”

“-I was  _ framed.  _ Some nasty little shit and his big cannibal  _ lughead _ brother decided to take me to hell an’ back cause’ I exposed their bullshit on the radio.” 

The man waited for her to get done before breaking into laughter.

“ _ Shit _ .”

“What’s so funny?  _ How is any of this funny to you?”  _ His laughter only got louder as she felt herself panic. Whatever tiny sliver of control she’d still had was gone now.

“Let me ask you somethin’ sweetheart.” Stretch watched helplessly as the man started to struggle with his bindings again. In mere seconds the rope started to slack off his body like it was nothing.

“What exactly are you plannin’ to  _ do  _ from this point on?”

He was standing now. The man took up enough space to loom over her, long and reedy. His skin was marked with scars, and the smell of cigarettes and booze seemed to waft off him like a natural musk. It made her eyes water. It made bile rise in her throat. It made her want to  _ run. _

“G- goin’ around till’ I can think of a way to convince the cops that I didn’t do it.” 

More laughter. The man’s smile was wide. Too wide.

“You  _ really  _ think they’re gonna believe a word that comes outta your mouth?”

“If I give em’ evidence then-”

“Oh hun….” Stretch could hear actual pity in his voice. “Girl, they ain’t gonna do jack shit about it even if you  _ do  _ have evidence. You could call god himself to come deliver your sorry ass from the clink and they’d still throw the book at ya’ on the way up. Nothin’ you can do about it now.”

Stretch faltered. The entire week she’d been running off pure adrenaline and panic, never letting herself rest for fear of what she’d be faced with. Even as she paced the floors of this dingy room, she’d refused to even  _ entertain  _ the idea that the police may not care.

“They….”

“....Are pigs. So they’re just gonna do whatever they want in order to get the heat of the case of their sorry asses. Whether that means you or those sons a’ bitches that actually  _ did it  _ gettin’ shoved somewhere don’t matter to em’ just as long as  _ somebody  _ takes the fall.”

She knew he was right. It made her sick to her stomach to admit, but he was right. All those nights growing up watching Lefty hound lead after lead looking for answers for this case. Every road led to nowhere, and when he’d tried turning to the police for help- his  _ “brothers”,  _ he’d called them- they’d left him nothing. Canned his ass when he got too annoying to really handle. This was nothing to them.

“So here’s what I’d recommend you do.” A boney hand slapped her shoulder. Stretch was jolted out of her spiral in an instant.. “You need to get somewhere you can lay low at. Just mind yer’ own for a lil’ bit till’ the heat dies down and you can really decide on a game plan.”

“What do you think I’m doin’ here?” 

“Bein’ a sittin’ duck.” He spat. “Minute the cops come knockin’ it’s over for you.”

“Well then what would you recommend I do? You got a better answer for me I’d just  _ love  _ to hear it!”

The man took a look at the room around them; at what little Stretch had brought with her. The woman had almost no worldly possessions aside from the clothes on her back, the curtain rod in her hands, and the keys to a car he just  _ knew  _ the cops would spot from a mile away. If the scene was near Dallas, and they were out here…… 

That was a couple hundred miles of road between them. It’d been almost a week. The cops would be on them any minute now. They needed to act quick.

“Lucky for you, I got family I’m visitin’ out west.”

“You think they’d be able to help?”

“I  _ know  _ they’d be able to help. The fuck you think I’m goin’ out there for? Y’ain’t the only one who's gotta lie low for a bit.”

There were a number of questions that came to mind. First, what the man had done in order to be on the run. It seemed like this wasn’t a first for him either. Was this a career for him? Did he just study this a whole lot and happen to finally get booked? What the hell was his family getting up to to be so laid back about the whole thing, anyway? Would this just end with her in a ditch rotting somewhere?

…..Was she  _ really  _ in any position to object to the offer? What could she do, realistically, if she said no?

“......Fine.” 

“Fine?”

“I’ll go out there with you.” Her breath was shaky. Uneven. Lord help her, she was trying to remain as dignified as she could. “What do you want from me though?”

The man looked like she’d sprouted another head.

“....Huh?”

“What do you want? In return for taking me out there? I don’t have money-”

“-I don’t need money. I don’t care bout’ money.” Stretch was talking herself into a hole here. Almost a minute passed in silence before he shook his head.

“I don’t need anythin’. You just sit back and be the Rotten to my Badman.”

He moved towards the front door. It was pointless to tell her to grab her things, considering damn near everything she’d owned was on her body. Stretch dutifully flicked the room’s lightswitch off on her way out. 

“You just expect me to call you ‘Badman’ this entire time, mister?”

“Nah. Course not.”

“You got a damn  _ name  _ then?”

“Course’ I do.” He led Stretch to an old beat up  _ thing  _ on the edge of the parking lot. The passenger door creaked open as he held it for her. As her ass plopped into her seat, she took one last look at her jeep on the other end of the lot. It seemed  _ surreal,  _ just leaving her like this.

“What is it?” Stretched asked her driver as he fell into his seat. 

“What’s what?”

  
  


“Your  _ name.” _

He jammed his keys into the ignition. A lighter sparked and next thing Stretch knew she was being suffocated in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  
“Got a lotta nicknames baby girl. A  _ whole  _ lot. But for simplicity’s sake….. You can call me Foxy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i sorta dropped off there for a bit everybody i had something happen at my job and had to work waaay out of my availability which left me no time to edit at all whatsoever. so ive been sitting on this absolute monster of a chapter for literally like, 2 weeks now, just waiting for the time to actually be able to write. and i was like damn i really wish i had time to write dude that would fuck real hard but god was like ok bet and decided to get me exposed 2 the damn rona. so now im stuck at home waiting until i can get tested to see if i got it or not, and ive been exposed MULTIPLE TIMES in the last week so god only knows how this is gonna go! please, for the love of god, if updates just stop again im probably ust busy. dont worry too much abt me ill probably be fine. im built different. when i got my top surgery done i went in for a post op like 4 days after and i moved my arms behind my head so extreme my nurse screamed in panic. my body heals weird and (KNOCK ON WOOD) i think if i am sick id be fine. i dont feel sick. again, knock on wood here because i dont want this to be like the 2021 version of those zombie movies where a dude gets bit and is like lol im built different but then he dies and wants to eat people. i dont have time for that. speaking of zombie movies tho yall seen the original dawn of the dead? like the 78 version? the entire movies on yt right now for free and on god if you havent seen it check it out. its so fucking relevant it made me wanna puke.


	6. this is just what working customer service is like dude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had his twin fastened into the seat with a seatbelt, some bungee cord, zipties…. Fucker seemed keen on moving around while he drove. Nubbins had always been overdramatic when it came to his driving- ‘got too much of that road rage there bro. Gotta be careful before you hit somebody!’ 
> 
> All he’d done was hit a damn pothole. A damn pothole and that little drama queen was actin’ like the sky was falling. And now? Anytime he took a turn he’d flop over like a limp noodle. Chop had let it slide for the most part, but when he’d turned to see one of his beady, glassy eyes almost bulging out of the socket…… That was too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sawyer family road trip sawyer family road trip sawyer family road trip

The end of July was brutal in Texas. No matter what part you were in, it made you it’s  _ bitch.  _ It was times like these where Chop wished he’d actually fixed the pickup’s air, but Drayton was always more worried about the food truck. Something about appearances, making people trust getting food from something with wheels under it, ‘ _ boy don’t you understand what health codes are’  _ and all that jazz. 

The heat had them in a damn headlock as they sat parked in front of the Kozy Kitten. It’d been a bunch of trial and error actually finding the damn place- lots of watching news reports, listening to the pigs over the radio, interrogating hapless locals. The usual. It was good they’d found it when they had; Bubba seemed about ready to jump outta his skin he was so anxious.

“Aaaaallrighty Bubs, here’s the plan; your ass stay’s parked in the back while I go in and do all the talkin’.”

His brother chirped fervently. Chop could see his hands moving in the rearview. 

“I know you wanna help. You’re helpin’ me by stayin’ in the back.” There was more grunting. More hand movements, this time much more energetic.“No-  _ you can’t get in the damn front seat.  _ I don;t  _ need  _ eyes up here. Nubbin’s is already on that.”

He had his twin fastened into the seat with a seatbelt, some bungee cord, zipties…. Fucker seemed keen on moving around while he drove. Nubbins had always been overdramatic when it came to his driving- ‘ _ got too much of that road rage there bro. Gotta be careful before you hit somebody!’  _

All he’d done was hit a damn pothole. A damn  _ pothole  _ and that little drama queen was actin’ like the sky was falling. And now? Anytime he took a turn he’d flop over like a limp noodle. Chop had let it slide for the most part, but when he’d turned to see one of his beady, glassy eyes almost bulging out of the socket…… That was too much. 

The absolute fucking  _ trickster,  _ his twin. This was no time for games!

“Just stay your fat flabby ass in that backseat. I mean it, Bubba! And  _ you,”  _ Chop jabbed a finger into the leathery skin of the corpse next to him,  _ “ _ You little asshat, just stay in the front and don’t let nobody break in. I don’t wanna come back out here to nothin’.”

Barking orders at the two of them made him feel oddly satisfied. Accomplished, even. Was this what that old cook felt for all those years? Drayton had always been the runt of the litter; Chop and Nubbins both had a good nerve. A gut instinct on how to kill even if they weren’t always the most  _ impressive  _ physical specimens. Bubba, obviously, was the powerhouse of the family- boy was built like a brick shithouse. Drayton didn’t have none of that. All he had was his brains, a big mouth, and a broom.

Chop slammed the truck door shut. He could see the wear on the motel as he took it all in; the sign was moldy, rotted and faded and just plain  _ dingy  _ looking. The office had a busted out window sloppily covered with plastic. A room’s door was just off its hinges; he could see a few people laying on the beds inside like they owned the place. Finally, towards the end of the stirp of rooms, he saw it; a door with yellow tape snaked around it like a rose in the middle of a thorn bush. Chop knew better than to just barge up to the room and knock his way inside. He needed to be discreet about this. Go to the source. 

The door to the office opened with the tingle of a bell. Chop adjusted the wig he’d chosen for today- long, silky, black. Like his hair before the accident. With a very loud, very dramatic grunt he cleared his throat.

“‘Scuse me, sir.” He tried his hardest to make sure his voice stayed level. Calm. Drayton had always said he’d had a certain set of- what he call it-  _ ticks  _ that unnerved people. Whatever the fuck that meant.

“....Can I….  _ help  _ you?” The clerk looked at him like he was a pile of dog vomit. So much for trying to act natural.

“I’m workin’ with the police force outta Dallas-”

“-I’m gonna cut you off right there, son.” The manager brought a hand to his temples. “There ain’t a  _ single damn cop  _ in the state of Texas that looks like you.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know  _ exactly  _ what I mean.” The manager spat,“I dunno what fruit stand you rolled off a’ this mornin’, but I don’t want no damn part of it.” 

Chop frowned. He really,  _ really  _ didn’t wanna have to escalate this whole situation. After all, there was only so much of this they could blame on that little disk jockey hack from back home. Getting blood on their hands before they could really settle down and try and  _ plan  _ where to go from next would be a headache. But if he  _ had to have a headache… _

His hand reached for his back pocket.

“....Less you got somethin’  _ I  _ could use that is.”

Chop felt his fingers brush against the switchblade he’d been making for. Felt his demeanor shift, if just slightly. 

“Now what would you want from me in exchange for such classified information?” Chop asked with a smile. The manager looked at him like he was insane.

“.... _ Money,  _ dipshit.”

Ah. He figured this would be something they’d run into. Chop fished out a wad of cash from his pocket- a stack he’d picked up off a corpse god knows how long ago. The clerk thumbed through the bills with a satisfied hum.

“Cops said she was goin’ west. Southwest, I believe. Might be jumpin’ the border, but I heard one of em’ say she seems to be stickin’ to backroads. They even made up a list of towns she could be headin’ towards.”

“You got that list by chance?” The clerk snorted. Flashed Chop a smile that reminded him of the army recruiter who’d convinced him to join up all those years ago. 

Oh, how he  _ hated  _ that slimy motherfucker.

“I might need a lil’ help remembering.”

“Oh…. That so?” Chop let out a cackle. The clerk laughed back, drumming his fingers on the counter. Over the wad he’d already forked over just seconds before.

Greedy fucking  _ pig. _

A switch in his brain flipped; before he could talk himself outta it, Chop’s hand was back in his pockets. The  _ other  _ pocket- the one with the knife. This time, he didn’t hesitate. The blade slid out of it’s handle with a sharp sound, so quick the clerk hadn’t even had time to blink before he felt the cold metallic flush against his throat.

“So lemme make somethin’ reeeeeal fuckin’ clear to you, hoss. You’re gonna give me what I wanna know. For free! No more  _ fuckin’ hand outs like you ain’t got money of your own. _ ” Chop snarled into the man’s ear. The clerk let out a panicked cry and squirmed pathetically. “And if you work with me then  _ youuuuu  _ get to walk away with your jugular still in one piece. See? We’re both gettin’ what we want tonight!”.

Chop was a shark in the water. The tiniest little drop of blood, the smallest sliver of agitation and he was off. This clerk was used to dealing with lowlifes, druggies with nowhere else to go, drifters down on their luck. This man had fucked around- underestimated him, didn’t pick up on the fact that he was an  _ entire other species of fucking animal,  _ and now it was time for him to find out.

“F- Fuck! Ok, ok shit- I know-” The clerk gasped. Chop moved the knife away. Just a tad.

“Cops said a few different places. Charlestown, Ruggsville- Shit like that. All backwater hick towns with nothin’ goin’ on.”

“How far are they from here?”

“Bout’ three hours drive. They’re takin’ backroads, probably, so it’ll be longer Look, that’s all I know. I swear- just let me-”

Chop tuned him out. They’d been gone for at  _ least  _ a day or two. The tape on the door seemed relatively fresh. This carny fuck really had the nerve to try and  _ sell him  _ information, so interest had to be piqued around town. Little backwoods hellhole didn’t get  _ this  _ type of action. So he’d poke around these little hovels he’d listened off, asking people what they’d seen or-

Something wet hit his fingers. Chop looked down and saw something slick near his nails. That pathetic little  _ pig fucker  _ was crying on him.  _ Snotting  _ on him. 

He’d just about  _ had it. _

With a quick jerk the knife went into his neck. Chop heard a deep gurgle as the guy tried to struggle. He turned the handle and yanked it out quick, watching a stream of blood gush from the puncture wound. With a manic howl Chop watched the man take one step, another, before his knees buckled under him. He hit the floor with a thud, body twitching and spazzing for a minute before going limp.

Chop looked around the lobby like he was coming out of a haze. They would’ve  _ had  _ to have heard all this bullshit from the outside. He really didn’t have much time- he needed to act quick, and act  _ now. _ A check behind the counter made him cackle again. The fucker really had an  _ entire shotgun  _ he could’ve used at any time. One of them fancy ones. Big and shiny and so  _ new  _ looking Chop knew the seedy little cockhead hadn’t used it once in his life. 

To the right of the gun there was safe. Locked, obviously. A blow from the shotgun made a decent sized hole for him to work with. Chop fished out whatever money he could, stuffing it in his pockets and bolting out the door with his new gun cradled in his arms like a newborn.

Bubba had, thankfully, not moved since he’d been gone. His ass was still parked in the back, and Nubbin’s body was still slouched in the passenger seat. Chop had come into view when he saw Bubba bolt to attention; hands flapping all over the damn place and high pitched squeals of panic as he threw the driver’s side door open.

“Went fine. I got a lead on where our little runaway’s off too.” Chop whistled and passed Bubba the gun.” We’re goin’ down south, boys!”

The engine roared to life. Bubba turned the shotgun over in his hands before letting out another shrill squeal. Chop watched him sign as he backed out of his spot. 

“Yeah, I mighta ran into some trouble back there. What of it? It’s fine, Bubs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like bubbas probably the type of dude who asks to stop to pee like every 5 exits and your really trying to get to where your going on time but this absolute mf has a bladder the size of a grape so like one sip of his mucho mango hes like tapping on the seat and signing to use the potty. and like, yeah your not gonna let him piss himself but dude we gotta get down there dude we gotta get this revenge killing started i just killed an overweight motel manager and there gonna find the body its like 90 degrees out right now and were in texas he WILL start smelling and then what dude were gonna have to run from the cops do you think this is a little game piss boy huh no were playing with our lives here buddy maybe lay off that 99 cent insulin nightmare in a can so you can stop pissing like a pregnant lady and we DONT get arrested.


	7. rural late 70s early 80s texas gsa club meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch watched him go first. Let him lead. This entire place just felt so odd to her. The air was electric, buzzing with energy but also completely dead at the same time somehow. It was like something here was lurking, liminal and out of focus, waiting to be woke up. It reminded her of all the trips Lefty had taken her on as a kid. Family reunions down south. Six Flags. The late nights coming back home, half dead from hours in the sun, shoved into the back seat while he messed with the gas pump just out her window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit im sorry this took so long for me to crank out
> 
> i have a really good excuse tho guys my mom fucking died lmao. like for real i couldn't write much of anything because i kind of just went blank for a bit? so i apologize if things kind of take awhile to get out from now on, i got most of that all settled but i have other family thats also on hospice and might be getting a new job soon so this shits kind of crazy to plot out rn. but im trying my best to actually write and everything i swear
> 
> if this chapter seems kind of weirdly paced and off its bc i rewrote it like, 5 times and couldnt decide how i wnated it to really go. were getting towards the actual climax soonish, i think, and i wanna say that if you havent read the last two fics in this series you should probably check those out. characters from that are gonna show up soon. yes this is how i trap you all into reading my horrible gay little house of 1000 corpses story.

The road was long. Really, really long. Stretch was tired. Really,  _ really  _ tired. It turns out running off almost no sleep for days on end- only being kept awake by adrenaline and whatever caffeine she could nap from the vending machine down the hall- was hell on your body. Coming down from it all made her feel like she was dying. She fought against the urge to knock out for roughly an hour before she finally faded and drifted off.

A few hours later she woke, head pressed against the glass of her door and sweat making her hair stick to the back of her head. It felt gross. Slimy. The fading sunlight of the road around her made everything feel… Liminal.

“Shit. What-”

“You been asleep for damn near most of the day.” Foxy yawned. Stretch had almost forgot about him and jumped when his twang broke the silence. “S’alright, jeez girl. You needed rest. I got some too- pulled off on the side of the road ways back and drove behind some trees and just knocked out. We’re back on track now.”

Stretch just stared. She heard him, knew what was going on and vaguely knew about the plan he’d cooked up to get them somewhere safe, but it was like she couldn’t feel it click in her head. Foxy tried his best to ignore her, but the awkward squirming in his seat made it clear he was starting to get unnerved.

“So….” Foxy sucked on his teeth. “You get up to much else other than murder?”

“What?” The question was such a curveball it made her blink. Actually snap out of her haze.

“‘ _ Framed  _ for murder. My bad. You was  _ framed  _ for killin’ like, what was it, twenty some people?”

“ _ Fuck  _ you.” Stretch snarled.

“You wish mama.” Foxy’s grin was so big she could see every chip, every crack, every discolored splotch on his teeth and it made her want to  _ gag.  _ “Sadly for you and every other bachelorette out there, ain’t interested in the ladies all that much.”

_ “Thank god.” _

“Oh shit, come on now. You don’t gotta be like  _ that.  _ Ain’t much to look at sure, but….” He made a sort of impartial gesture with his hands. Stretch pinched the bridge of her nose. God, she wanted to  _ scream. _

_ “ _ I’m a  _ lesbian _ ,  _ dipshit _ .”

Foxy narrowed his eyes. Gave her a confused look that Stretch hadn’t been expecting.

“Now… Forgive me if I’m wrong girl, but.. Thought you worked in the radio.”

What.

“....Yes? What’s that got to do with anything we’re talkin’ about here?”

“You just said you was one of them thespians, darlin’. That means you work in plays n’ shit. I know my cultured stuff too. You’re misusin’ that word.”

Oh. Oh holy shit. Stretch had to actually stop herself from blowing her vocal cords out screaming. This was…. This was too much.

“Foxy.” She said after an eternity of pause. “I said lesbian. With an L.”

The gears in his head finally started to turn.

“Well shit. That would- And I’d just said I was one of those funny boys-”

“-Yeah.”

“You too?” Stretch nodded. Foxy, for the first time since she’d got in this death trap, actually smiled. A real, un-cocky, genuine smile. “Well how bout’ that. Outside the family I thought I was the only queer this side of the damn border. Say, you got yourself a girl back home?”

Stretch balked at his boldness. 

“ _ ‘Scuse you?”  _ She hissed. For some reason the question had struck a nerve- one that she didn’t even realize she had. “Why would you just ask somethin’ like that?”

“Takin’ that as a no then?”

Foxy turned to look at the passenger seat and was met with a middle finger shoved square between his eyes. Stretch didn’t even bother to entertain him with an actual response.

“Hell- I’m  _ sorry _ ! Didn’t realize this was a sensitive subject.”

“Don’t know who raised you, but you don’t just  _ ask  _ stuff like that. Mind your own.”

Silence. The scenery outside Stretch’s window passed in a dark blob. The car they were in actually shook with how fast Foxy was going, and had she been in any other circumstance she’d be worried it’d start to break apart like one of those space rockets she’d watched on her TV set. 

“You know, I was raised kinda weird I guess. Didn’t put a whole lotta stock on stuff like this. Just kinda…. Did what I wanted. Ladies, men, people that was neither- you know that exists, right?” Stretch gave him a curious look. “Not a whole lotta people do, but I’ve seen it. Real interestin’ shit. Anyways, what I mean is… I seen how people act out there. When it comes to this an’ what not. So, I can see why you’d get all prickly bout’ it.”

The car started to slow, if only by a little. That wasn’t  _ saying  _ a whole lot given their speed, but it was notable nonetheless. 

“Don’t matter if you like the ladies. None of that matters.”

“Matters to other people.” Stretch’s voice was graveley. Sort of hollow and empty. She’d never really put a lot of stock in this conversation- not like there was anyone to really  _ have  _ it with- and actually having to think of this was sort of surreal. She could hear Foxy snort to her left.

“ _ Fuck  _ other people. You seen the shit other people do?”

“Frame me for murder?”

“ _ Exactly.  _ Other people don’t mean jack  _ shit,  _ kid. Fuck them and fuck what they think.”

“Not even what they think. I’m just… Scared, I guess. Of what they could  _ do. _ You don’t get it, man. It’s different for you.”

Foxy was quiet. His hand drummed against the center console as he sighed. Just as it sounded like he was about to continue the car made a loud dinging noise. Both of them froze, fearing the worst. 

“Oh, thank  _ fuck.  _ We just need gas.” Foxy laughed. “Shit. Thought the damn thing was bout’ to blow.”

“Is it safe to do that?”

“We managed to put bout’ two hundred miles between us and that motel. We should be fine to fill er’ up. Can’t stay for too long, though.” 

“How much longer do we have till’ we get to your family?” Stretch looked out her window and saw a huge and looming neon sign. The only thing on the horizon for miles that wasn’t a tree or the sky itself. The sign read “Carl’s Country Clubhouse”. 

“Can’t tell. Goin’ the backway means we gotta cut through a whole lotta cousin fuckin’  _ nothin’  _ towns that add time onto this lil’ adventure of ours. I’d say another day or two and we should be in the clear.”

“Another  _ day  _ or two?” Stretch exclaimed. The car started to slow a bit as they neared the upcoming stop. Foxy gave her an annoyed look as he flicked his turn signal on.

“Yes?”

“I thought you said they were in the state.”

“They are.” Foxy pulled into a gravel lined parking lot. “The opposite side of the damn state. We gotta be  _ careful  _ here, kid. You an’ I are on the lamb, and we can’t just go crusin’ down the highway with the top down like we’re on vacation. Shit’s gonna take time.”

The car lurched forward as he put it in park. Stretch huffed a bit in frustration- he was right. As much as she hated to admit it, he was  _ right.  _ There was about fuckall she could do right now about this other than sit down and shut her mouth. As irritating as this all was, she couldn’t make time go any faster by riding his tail over the  _ one  _ annoying thing in this car he couldn’t control.

She took a deep breath.

:...So when we stop for gas, we gettin’ food too right?” 

“Of  _ course  _ we’re gettin’ food.” Foxy hocked a loogie out of his window. “You think you’re just gonna get food by photo-synchrasis or somethin’? Pick out whatever you want when we get in there.”

“What’re my options?”

“They may have some chicken or somethin’. Lotsa’ joints down here got food in the stations.”

Stretch made a face.

“Chicken from some place like this? On the side of the road? That sounds  _ horrible.” _

“Hey- don’t knock it till’ you try it kid.” Foxy reached for his door handle. “My dad’s got a gas station with the best fuckin’ chicken you’ll ever eat.” 

He stopped. Sniffed the air.

“Ain’t as good as his, but the chicken smells decent enough. Got some burgers goin’ too.” Stretch gave him a look. “What?”

“I can’t smell any of that.”

“Of course  _ you  _ can’t.” Foxy said with a roll of his eyes, like that was somehow supposed to explain everything. “Now come on. I’m gettin’ hungry.”

Stretch watched him go first. Let him lead. This entire place just felt so odd to her. The air was electric, buzzing with energy but also completely  _ dead  _ at the same time somehow. It was like something here was lurking, liminal and out of focus, waiting to be woke up. It reminded her of all the trips Lefty had taken her on as a kid. Family reunions down south. Six Flags. The late nights coming back home, half dead from hours in the sun, shoved into the back seat while he messed with the gas pump just out her window.

The screen door’s bell jingled as Foxy pushed his way inside. 

A man sat behind a counter, face covered by whatever local paper he had in his hands. He hadn’t so much as looked up from it as they made their way deeper into his store, and Stretch cleared her throat anxiously.

“Don’t say nothin’.” Foxy hissed under his breath. He put a hand on her shoulder like he just  _ knew  _ what she’d almost done. “Food’s just up ahead.”

The two made their way towards a wall of warmers. A bucket of chicken stood under a heat lamp- glowing, almost, in the light. Stretch realized on closer inspection it wasn’t actually a glow, more like a glisten from all the grease and fat congealed to it’s breading. More than likely the bucket had been here for hours.

If Foxy cared, he sure as hell didn’t show it.

“Ain’t it just fuckin’  _ beautiful.”  _ He sounded near tears. Stretch watched as bits of drool actually formed at the corners of his mouth like some sort of half starved animal. He took it into his hands and looked around, frenzied, like he’d not eaten in a month or so.

“Got hot dogs. Burgers. Shit, Stretch, we could really get a lot here.”

“....I just want a burger. Are you even gonna eat all this?” 

“Yeah. Ain’t eaten since I got to your motel earlier today. That’s almost a whole third of a day ago now! Cut me some damn slack.”

“Alright! Goddamn, just leave me somethin’. Get whatever you want long as you can afford it.”

Foxy snorted like she’d said some kind of joke. Stretch chose, for her own sanity, to ignore it and make her way towards the warmer that housed wrapped sandwiches. The sloppy handwriting on the wrapper spelled out “HANBUGER”. 

For the love of god, trying to eat this thing would be the worst horror she'd gone through yet.

“You got everything?” Foxy called from behind her. When Stretch turned to meet him, his arms were practically overflowing with whatever food he’d pillaged from the shelves. There was at least three different sandwiches, two hot dogs, the chicken bucket- 

-Stretch stopped counting. This was just gonna make her damn head hurt.

“Yeah.” She said flatly. Foxy nodded, turning back towards the counter and dropping everything in front of the clerk with a loud thud. The poor man jumped, stirring from whatever trance the paper had him in and taking stock of the man in front of him for the first time. The amount of food in front of him made him blink.

“....All this for you?”

“Yeah. An’ fifteen on pump three.”

The man took stock of everything there. Counted out all the food by hand- and added in Stretch’s burger as she held it up for him to inspect. The register’s total evened out at fourty three dollars and eleven cents.

“You all on the road?”

“Yes sir.” Foxy nodded. “On our way to visit some family.”

“You pickin’ up food for em’ too? Never seen anybody get this much at once! Quite the amount of damage you did here…” Foxy laughed. Stretch forced a smile as the stranger joined in. “You payin’ with cash or check?”

“Neither.”

Before Stretch or the man could question him, Foxy brought out a pistol and held it in the air. The man stumbled back as Foxy aimed it towards his chest, clicking off the safety as his pointer finger hovered over the trigger.

“Foxy!” Stretch exclaimed. “The fuck are you-”

“Put fifteen on pump three.” Foxy repeated, his voice suddenly much louder. “ _ Now.”  _

“Of course. Of course, I can- can absolutely do that. No need to get violent, now.” The man was shaking. The machine in front of him clicked as his sausage fingers mashed the buttons. “Aw- shit, hit the wrong pump-”

“I don’t have  _ time for this.”  _ Foxy snarled. He shoved the gun closer to the man. “Now-”

“I did it. It’s on the pump, just please put that down!” The man’s voice cracked. He was pleading, near tears as he bargained for his life. “No need for all this. Just let me go, alright? Won’t tell nobody.”

Foxy’s finger eased against the trigger.

“Wait- Stop. Stop this right now.” Stretch’s voice shook. Foxy didn’t inch closer, didn’t pull the trigger, but didn’t relent much besides that. “I’m serious! Put that gun down  _ now,  _ Foxy!”

“No turnin’ back now. We need to finish this fore’ he goes and blabs.”

“I won’t do that!” The man exclaimed. “Just go on your way with the food and I won’t even let the cops know bout’ all this.”

“He’s lyin’.” Foxy snorted. “Now-”

“-No. You ain’t doin’ all that. Enough fuckin’ blood’s been shed already. Put that down and we can just  _ go.” _

Silence. Foxy lingered, hand holding firm. Unmoving. There wasn’t so much as a twitch as he held his ground. The man behind the counter, on the other hand, unraveled by the second. He was crying now, tears welling in his eyes as he shook like a leaf. He’d stopped bargaining with Foxy now, instead looking at Stretch like she was God himself.

She stood as the last ditch effort between him and all-but certain death. In a way, she supposed, she was kinda like god.

“Fine. You wanna let him live so bad? You go an’ tie em’ up.”

“What-”

“-Didn’t have much of a problem doin’ it to me, right? Do that. Put em’ in the backroom. Shut the door behind you. And  _ you.”  _ He pointed the end of the gun towards his-  _ their-  _ hostage, “You so much as take a  _ peak  _ outta that damn room before the sun’s up I’ll come back here and paint the walls with your brain matter. I’ll know. Don’t fuckin’ test me.”

“Yes sir.” The man nodded. Foxy tossed Stretch some rope and smirked.

“Little shit called me  _ sir?  _ That’s hilarious.”

“ _ Foxy!” _

_ “ _ Shit. Fine. Get to tyin’ him up before I change my mind.”

The door creaked. He was gone, and now Stretch was alone with the man, some rope, and an odd feeling of disgust settling somewhere in her stomach. It was hard to reconcile this with herself-  _ she had to do this, if she didn’t, he would be dead.  _ That’s what she told herself at least. It should’ve killed whatever doubt she’d had but in practice it did fuckall. It was hard to block out the whimpers from the man under her, the sort of pained grunts he’d give as she tightened his bindings. When she’d finally shoved him in the back room, he’d given her one last wide eyed look.

“I’m sorry.”

She slammed the door behind her. Ran to the entrance, shoved her way out and bolted to the car. Foxy had long since finished gassing the car; he was in the driver's seat, halfway through the bucket of chicken. Grease caked his face, and as Stretch settled into her seat she could see the wrappers of at least three sandwiches at his feet.

“....What.”

“What do you  _ mean  _ what? Will you just drive this junkyard reject sack of shit so we can get on the damn road!” Stretch smacked the dashboard for emphasis and Foxy  _ jumped. “ _ You just made me tie a poor man up and you’re just in here stuffin’ your face like nothin’s wrong?”

“You were handlin’ things.” Foxy said in a small voice. Stretch could  _ feel  _ the blood rushing through her ears.

  
“Move the damn car  _ NOW.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i good at setting things up? building suspense? letting people know somethings up with a character even without blatantly stating it in the text? i have no fucking clue baby im jared 19 and i never learned how 2 fucking read


	8. five second rule but applied to raw meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smoke funneling into the sky was a distant blip on the horizon now. Far, far behind them. But even at this distance, they could hear the cry of sirens carried on the late summer air. It wouldn’t take that long for them to deduce who’s car this was and start combing the woods. They’d managed to make a somewhat sizable distance in a relatively short time, granted, but it wasn’t enough. Nowhere near. They’d send in dogs, trackers, teams- whatever they could to find them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the eldest sibling i can totally understand otis' backstory wrt killing his parents and like, ditching foxy. like im not ENABLING that behavior but you know

Stretch woke to the sound of sputtering- mechanical wrenching that made her head hurt. The sun was high in the sky now, beating down on her through the smudged window to her right. Sweat coated her forehead, making her hair stick to the back of her neck and everything feel so  _ sticky.  _ They weren’t moving. The mechanical noise picked up, louder and more clunky sounding than before.

“Shit!”

That was a good sign. She looked up from her seat and noticed that the hood was popped. Foxy was buried neck deep inside the guts of the car. She couldn’t see him, obviously. But the repeated banging on something inside the interior was enough of a clue on how everything was going. She shoved against her door and made her way out.

“What’s wrong?” Stretch had to hold back a snort as Foxy jumped in shock. He blinked, rubbing a grease-stained hand across his face until most of his forehead was smeared with muck.

“She’s fucked.” He stated the obvious, chucking a piece of metal across the pavement with a dramatic flourish. Stretch watched it skid to the other side of the road.

“What was that?” 

“Some piece from in here. It’s a goner, kid. We gotta hoof it rest of the way there.”

_ “Hoof it?” _

“Yeah, like walk-”

“ _ I know what hoof it means.”  _ Stretch said, pinching the bridge of her nose. Great. This was just…..  _ Great.  _ Fucking fantastic. 

“Closed my eyes for a  _ maybe  _ an hour….”

“An  _ hour?  _ Girl you was out for damn near ten!” Foxy hissed, “I pulled off to rest after you dozed off and got a nap in  _ and  _ another three hours before this fucker blew! Damn near thought you died or somethin’.” Foxy slammed the hood of the car. “Didn’t even help drive and you wanna sit there and prattle on like a damn prima-donna. ‘ _ Oh I can’t even lay down for an hour!’  _ ass.”

“You never asked me to drive!”

“You never  _ offered to drive!” _

“I don’t know where we’re even going!”

The car sputtered again. A dark cloud rose from the hood, and the air started to smell… Sweet. Stretch froze, turning her head back to the wreck and noticed the smoke starting to funnel out of the front. 

“Shit.” 

It wasn’t like she’d had a lot to begin with, but she made a break for whatever things of value they’d had stashed in the car. Food. Some clothes. A spare jacket. All of it was thrown onto the blacktop in a pile. 

“Grab this and get towards the fuckin’ treeline. The damn coolant’s leakin’.” Foxy headed her, thank god, and grabbed whatever shit she’d tossed. Stretch took one last look at the car before pivoting.

“That what smells like candy?”

“Yeah- I think it got to the engine. No coolant meant this thing’s runnin’ hot and putin’ wear on it that’s just gonna make it hell to even-”

Almost as if on cue there was a spark. All it took was just that spark, and the entire car was up in a ball of fire. Flames licked the sky, sending ash and soot up like a damn chimney. Foxy dragged her to the ground- into a ditch. Right as the flames scorched damn near everything around them. 

Seconds passed like hours. Days. Weeks. They waited for everything to die down. Stretch was vaguely aware of a weight over her, and it took a bit of time for her to realize that it was Foxy. Boney asshole’s elbow was right in her rib like a damn knife. It hurt, obviously. Being tackled to the ground hurt. His elbow hurt. The weight of a full-grown man who seemed to know just how to press up on every organ she had inside her hurt. 

“You alright?” Foxy asked from somewhere on top of her. Stretch nodded before realizing that he might not be able to see it.

“Yeah. I think at least.” She hacked up a nasty sounding cough. The air smelled like smoke, thick and unforgiving but somehow different from the week before. This smoke had oil, grease, mechanical smells that gave it an artificial tinge. There wasn’t the organic smell of wood, timber, flesh, hair, rot. It was all metal and fluid.

The weight above her was lifted. She rolled onto her back, blinking as best as she could through the dust and grit in the air.

“We need to get goin’.” Foxy’s voice had the survival edge to it again. The sort of tone he got when he meant business. Stretch couldn’t even see him through everything now. Before she knew it, she felt arms around her middle. Hoisting her up and slinging her over his shoulder.

“Easy now.” Foxy coaxed as she tried to fidget. Stretch was finding it hard to settle as she was being yanked around like a human ragdoll. Everything looked upside down- fire on the floor and trees in the sky. It was maddening. Worst of all was the damn jostling. 

“The hell can you keep your balance?”

“What?”

“You’re walkin’ like it’s nothin’  _ and  _ carryin’ me just fine. How?”

  
  


“Grew up in this.”Foxy ducked under a branch without so much as hesitation. 

“Hmm. Your parents one of them who lives off the grid?”

“Huh- oh. Nah. They just didn’t have electricity for the most part. Or a car. Or… Shit. Much of anythin’ really. Had a trailer. That’s bout’ it.”

“Huh.” 

They were down south now. Texas was a big ass state, obviously. Poverty dynamics varied by demographic. Where you were in the state could set the tone for how the common man would live. The average working class home back in Dallas looked much different than the working class of the mid-south. What seemed poor to her…..

“...Well, guess we can’t have it all.” She said with a sigh. “Least your parents were around. They got electricity now at least?”

“Don’t know.” Stretch could feel Foxy’s shoulders raise as he shrugged. Stretch craned her neck to look towards his general direction. 

“Don’t know?”

“Been a couple years since I seen em’.”

“Well… Guess we’ll find out when we get there?” 

There was a pause. Foxy shifted; Stretch could feel herself get pulled up, back, towards him again. Before she knew it she was being held under the arms like a damn toddler.

“We ain’t  _ goin’  _ to them.”

“...You said we were meeting your family. Your mom-”

“-Got a couple of em’. You’re meetin’ Mama, sure, and my brother, and all of Mama’s kids. My siblings. My family.”

“......Adopted?” Stretch asked with a tilt of her head. Foxy narrowed his eyes. He seemed to linger on the idea for an eternity before finally shaking his head.

“Yeah. Somethin’ along those lines.”

He set Stretch down and watched her wobble on her feet. He was wary, letting her walk around unassisted like this, but when she managed to take a few steps without biting it he was continent. He started forward again, leading the way through the brush like a human shaped battering ram.

“Nice that you found somebody though. A family or what-not.” 

“I didn’t even find it. My brother did. Got adopted by Mama when he was a teen, then when I came pokin’ round’ they took me in all the same. She’s got a big heart on er’- Mama, I mean. Give you the robe off her back if it weren’t somethin’ that cost a damn fortune.”

“And your brother.. How’d he find them?” 

Stretch didn’t wanna probe too deep into this. It felt personal-  _ too  _ personal. 

“Got picked up by some clown out west. Guess it’s kinda karma, him findin’ them for me after what he did back home.” 

“What he do back home?”

Foxy snorted. Fished in his pocket and took out a box of cigarettes. Stretch had been so busy trying to avoid yet another senseless death she’d missed him taking them back at the station. 

“Fucker was always the dramatic type. One day pops just beat em’ round’ a lil’ too hard or somethin’. Don’t even know what really caused it but boy just  _ snapped  _ on em’. Went devil on pa’, then went back for ma’ when she came home. Didn’t do fuckall to me. Left me with the mess to clean up, but didn’t hurt me none.”

Stretch stopped mid walk. 

“What?”

“Your brother  _ killed your parents.” _

“Ain’t my parents.” Foxy’s voice was stern, “Just nut in each other and popped us out.”

“Right.” Stretch nodded. She had a headache, felt queasy, couldn’t really think straight. Whether or not this was from the weight of the situation or the still-acidic air wasn’t clear. “How exactly did you meet the others then?”

“Family that had the trailer?”

“Yeah. Them.”

Foxy reached for her arm, and Stretch didn’t really fight him off. She let him lead, forced her legs forward as she tried to keep moving. 

“Wandered off after it happened. Kinda scary, all that blood an’ all. Funny now cause’ it was sloppy and shit. Nothin’ compared to what I do now. Anyways, moved around a day or two until I found the trailer and them an’ they were nice enough to not shoot me on the spot. Took me in outta the kindness of their own hearts.”

“That’s nice of them.” 

“Yeah? Guess it was. Fed me, bathed me, put clothes on my back an’ shit. Didn’t cook all that much though.”

“Food’s food. Dad’s cookin’ wasn’t ever the best, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“They didn’t  _ cook.  _ They fed me, but that shit was raw.”

If she wasn’t being led by hand Stretch would’ve stopped again.

“..... _ Raw?” _

“Like the meat-”

“-I assumed that’s what it was.  _ Raw?  _ They fed you raw meat?”

“It didn’’t bother them.” Foxy shrugged. “They could handle it. Always made fun a’ me for my weak stomach up till'-”

“-Stop." Stretch put a hand to her temple. "Just stop. Right there. Humans ain't meant to _eat raw meat, Foxy._ How in the hell did you even..."

A loud noise cut her off. Before them, on the horizon, was a road. Another backroad, sure, but it was a road nonetheless. A car was barreling down it, brights on to illuminate as much as it could. The two of them crouched down as they watched it pass. It seemed like, somehow, they’d managed to wander back to society at last.

The smoke funneling into the sky was a distant blip on the horizon now. Far, far behind them. But even at this distance, they could hear the cry of sirens carried on the late summer air. It wouldn’t take that long for them to deduce who’s car this was and start combing the woods. They’d managed to make a somewhat sizable distance in a relatively short time, granted, but it wasn’t enough. Nowhere near. They’d send in dogs, trackers, teams- whatever they could to find them. 

They were sitting ducks.

“We’re gonna need another ride.” Stretch broke the silence with the obvious.

“No shit. You wanna pull a car outta your ass or you got a better idea?”

Stretch wracked her brain. The road they’d found seemed relatively deserted. It almost had to be- from what Foxy had said, Ruggsville seemed fairly rural. Whoever used this road was probably a local or, at best, some mixed up tourist who wouldn’t know where to go. And even if they did, there was the odd chance they’d recognize one of them and escalate things.

“We could flag somebody down. Ask for a ride closer to the farm, then walk the last mile or so.”

“What are the odds we're gonna get somebody to agree to that?” Shockingly enough, Foxy’s tone was missing the acidic bite it usually had. He was asking, genuinely, for her opinion. Which was ironically, considering he had much more experience in this than she did.

“Well.. I suppose if they wouldn’t wanna we could just… Y’know.”

“Take it?”

“Yeah. That.” It left a sour taste in her mouth. “Push em’ outta the car and gun it.”

“Not kill em’?”

“No. No killin’.”

Stretch expected more back talk from him on that. Pushing her for being weak or putting them in danger or something like that. To her shock, he just nodded.

“Close enough now that we’d be home fore’ they could tell anybody. Think it’s doable.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now…. Keep your eyes on this road. I dunno where we  _ are  _ exactly, but we gotta be close to town. We flag somebody down we can be there before tomorrow mornin’.”

“You think anybody’s gonna come from out east?” Stretch pointed towards the way they’d come. On the horizon, they could see the glow from the wreckage still smoldering. 

“Nah. Roadblock up by now probably. If anything, they’re gonna….. Wait.”

There was something out there. 

The headlights were dim, but they could still see something approaching. It looked big- like some sort of truck, but neither of them could really place it. Some local heading back home after work, maybe.

“Now’s your shot kid.” Foxy nudged Stretch. “Go up there and work your magic.”

“Aren’t you comin’ too?” 

“You go first. Young lady such as yourself all alone’s gonna get their attention more than I would.”

Stretch hesitated. The lights were getting closer now; within a minute, the truck would barrel past them. 

“Look.” Foxy put a hand on Stretch’s shoulder and jerked her around to face him. He could read the apprehension on her face like a damn book. “I know this is a whole lot you gotta tango with, girl, but you can do this. I’ll be here waitin’. You just gotta flag em’ down’s all.”

“And if they try it?”

“Then you bash their fuckin’ heads in, babygirl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everybody sorry again for such a long gap in posting shits been absolute batshit bonkers lately but were vibin with it. how did valentines day go for yall? jk its a fake made up holiday meant to sell chocolate and flowers n shit. wait how did you know im single omg

**Author's Note:**

> if stretch sees a [redacted] she floors it


End file.
